


Sunflowers

by ninthcompanion



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Childhood Memories, Drabble Collection, Drabbles, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, but its okay hes fine after, i checked major death bc uh... thats canon, naoise dies like twice GRTDBN, will tag more characters if they show up/as needed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-11-06 10:45:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17938334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninthcompanion/pseuds/ninthcompanion
Summary: When Naoise looks back over his shoulder, Seruel breathes in the light of his sunflower smile.





	1. sunflowers

**Author's Note:**

> hello!
> 
> this is going to be an ongoing drabble collection that focuses on naoise/seruel. i have so much to say about the two of them, and hopefully i can do it here. the contents will range from very dark to very silly, so do tread carefully.
> 
> thanks for reading; i really needed to pour out what's been in my heart about these two for so long, and i hope you enjoy

Naoise’s golden locks move like strands of sunlight as he walks ahead, deeper into the field. Wind whistles its way through the tall, quiet grass, enveloping them in a world where they answer not to the throne of Irestill — this is their Kingdom of Willows, where barley shines caramel and their tall ancestors wear yellow petal crowns so very high above what their small legs will let them see. They wander the court of stems like marble pillars, still just sproutlings among the verdant giants.

“Just a little farther now, okay?”

When Naoise looks back over his shoulder, Seruel breathes in the light of his sunflower smile.

“Yes.”

As they walk the dirt path, Seruel’s tawny ears turn downward. 

“Heles is going to be mad, isn’t she? She'll say 'how come you didn’t take me too?', and 'you're lucky you didn't get lost' and nah, nah, nah." He frowns, eyes cast downward to his baby blue shoes. “And you'll be in trouble too, won’t you? Father will scold your mother for losing us, and then she'll scold you again.”

“That’s true,” Naoise says, not turning back. He holds Seruel's hand and guides him as they fade into the blossoms and wheat. “But it's the duty of a knight to protect his prince, right? I'll take the blame.”

“So you really want to be a knight, huh?”

“Mhm! I’ve already decided. Mother will be proud of me, and I can still be with you and Princess Heles, too. It works out perfectly, doesn't it? We all stay together.”

Will they? Seruel has heard the sighs his father tries to keep from him, the terse whispers of the councilors and nobles as they shuffle through parchment after parchment of names, names, names. One evening after a hushed conversation, Heles snatched one of the scrolls from the bin and they read it together. Missing names. Crossed-out names. Names of knights meant only for gravestones, the kind you place flowers beside. 

“Maybe so,” Seruel murmurs, squeezing his hand a bit tighter. “Do you promise? That we’ll be together?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.”

All around them, the swaying grain of their kingdom begins to burn. The memory curls away like the edges of tattered parchment.

Deirdre — Scathacha. Howls, bloody claws scraping at the palace rooftop. The pact, the ritual, the clash of sword on sword, the blackened skies looming overhead... 

And… 

_ “Naoise!” _

Scarlet burns Seruel's eyes as his back hits stone. Ashes and specks of dark energy swirl in the air, searing hot with magic — smoke hisses, twists its way into the skies. By the time Seruel scrambles onto his knees, his feet, the enchanted circle's hungry light begins to fade.

At its center lies a willing sacrifice, his body frail and still.


	2. too many teeth

“Her name is Sunflower. She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”

Beautiful is one word for it, perhaps. Seruel’s brow tightens as he counts the speckles of caramel along Sunflower’s ivory coat, anything to distract him from the knobby joints of her legs and her meaty, bulging abdomen. Imposing would be too generous a word to describe those beady eyes. Watching. Waiting. Readying her attack.

How is he to get up on that saddle, anyway? No matter how much time Naoise spends pampering this creature, she is no friend. She’s a weapon, to be sure. A beast with more teeth in her head than brains.

 

> _ Father, must I? I’m not tall enough to even- _
> 
> _ Every king of Irestill before you has learned to ride a horse at your age. You will be no different. _

 

“My Prince? Are you alright?”

“Huh? Yes,” Seruel clears his throat, pulled from the privacy of his thoughts. “I’m fine.”

Still, Naoise looks at him expectantly. He brushes Sunflower’s golden mane, patting her neck with his free hand. Seruel sighs, folding his arms.

“Yes, Naoise. She’s beautiful.”

“Ah, I knew you would think so! Sunflower,” he coos, turning to her. “Prince Seruel says you are beautiful. Did you know that?”

Sunflower snorts a gust of hot, rancid breath right into Seruel’s face. He closes his eyes tight and winces, teetering backward on his heels. It’s all Naoise can do to cover his mouth with one hand and stop the giggles.

“You just have to trust her, Seruel. Horses have been here on this island even longer than our people… they’re graceful, wise, and so, so soft. I’m sure you’ll be able to bond with her one day.”

“Well,” Seruel huffs. “That day is not today.”


	3. creases

If you hold Naoise's hand, you'll feel the creases — one for each horse he's ridden into the starlit winter of Alster’s forests, one for every porcelain teacup he's washed clean, and one for every battle where he has drawn his spear, glinting crimson-gold in the harsh sun.

Little creases hide between the cracks in his palms, too, for every word he's never spoken.

Seruel runs his thumb along them, listening.


	4. little games

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cross-posted from the first chapter of my other fic, A Makeshift Home; for the sake of organization, i want all my naoiserus in one place

“Hark, villain! In the name of the king, your crusade ends here!”

Brandishing a curtain rod, Naoise cackles darkly as he can muster. (It's more squeaking than menacing, really.) He and his Prince circle each other five feet apart, stumbling here and there on little feet unpracticed in the ways of war. It’s a game cobbled together from watching silver armor glint in the dawn on the training grounds, all built from shards of cracked mirrors laying at the feet of their fathers.

“Foolish knight! You cannot hide from me! I’m the assassin… uhm,” he glances about the master bedroom. There's got to be something. Silken sheets of blue and white, tapestries towering around the bed, curtains shrouding the mattress, silver veils of morning dew. Soft lights, soft sheets — aha! “I'm the wanted criminal assassin… Velvet Knife!”

Prince Seruel’s stance falters. His face scrunches up to hide laughter. “What can a velvet knife do to me, O Wanted Criminal? Only metal knives will work!”

“I-it’s my name because, uhm… oh! When I stab my victims, I make no sound! Just as velvet is soft enough to cover up sounds, so too shall I undo your kingdom without a trace!”

“How dare you?! Have at thee, Velvet Knight!”

“I’m not the knight, my Prince,” Naoise whispers, cupping one hand around his mouth. “You’re the knight, and I’m the assassin.”

“Irrelevant!”

Giggles dance in the afternoon air rustling through the curtains; autumn sunbeams cradle the two boys as they play their tiny game of daggers. Flimsy curtain rod blades clash in mimicked strokes, clanging — Seruel parries Naoise’s attacks and pushes him backward step by step. As he’s backed into the corner and bumps the wall behind him, Naoise darts to the left and snatches up a loose slipper, wielding it as his fluffy shield. “My defense is impeneregnable!” Impenetrable? Impregnable? No, no, certainly impeneregnable.

“Not for long!”

Seruel dashes across the room and clambers onto the king’s bed. He hops up and down and declares his position. “Surrender now, Velvet Knight-  _Knife!_ I will defend my father and his house at all costs. Plus, the higher ground is mine!”

“My Prince, stop! You’re going to get in trouble!”

Seruel smirks. “Then do you admit defeat?”

“No,” he puffs out his cheeks. “That’s not what I said! I just don’t want you to get scolded!”

“If I stop your crimes here, there will be no scolding! Kneel, assassin, and cease your wicked ways.”

A breeze passes through the battleground. The curtains raise and flutter like a white flag, glittering in the sunlight settling over the hills beyond. Naoise’s eyes are drawn to the green and the glow, then back to his Prince. He smiles and lets the slipper and curtain rod slip from his grasp.

“With this,” he kneels. “I admit I committed many crimes, and I am at the mercy of your blade. If you spare my life, Prince Seruel, I will forever seek the righteous path from now on- huh?”

There’s a light tap at his left shoulder. Naoise looks up with wide eyes and sees Seruel there, tapping him with the curtain rod he discarded. “Your skills are not suited for the dungeon, Velvet Knife… you're hereby pardoned by the Kingdom of Irestill, and shall serve your sentence as my loyal knight. Never shall you leave my side. Do you accept your new path?”

Can he? Naoise blinks, letting his sentence wash over him. Could he truly stay by his Prince's side? If he wishes it then yes, he must. That is the role of a knight- well, an assassin-turned-knight. He wavers just slightly as he reaches to take his Prince's hand, and plants a kiss on the back. Seruel giggles.

Behind them, the sunset crests their little oath incarnadine.

“I promise.”


End file.
